


Slick's Squad - Confusion

by Reulte



Series: Slick's Squad [1]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-28
Updated: 2014-10-19
Packaged: 2018-02-15 04:09:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2215239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reulte/pseuds/Reulte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before Sergeant Slick was discovered as a traitor, he worked to break his squad.</p>
<p> <br/>This is the first in the Slick's Squad series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Gus

They’d been new to Christophsis, Gus and the rest of the squad, right off Kamino and most of them as new as dawn.

Punch and Sketch were brothers, inseparable for ages and stronger for being together. Gus knew that one day Punch would be a sergeant; he had that kind of personality and care for his brother troopers. Sketch was meticulous and detail-oriented; he’d made a great second to Punch. Gus wasn’t sure if they came together as more than brothers; he hadn’t seen them kiss or fondle each other but as someone with no experience in the matter, Gus wasn’t sure he would even recognize it.

Jester was with them, always questioning, always wondering, always excited to see new planets and people. Gus didn’t think his eternal questioning was a good habit and it might get Jester killed once they arrived on the battlefield, but he had good questions, usually good answers and always great stories.

Then there was the new guy to the squad, Twenty-three. He’d seen battle, you could see it in his scars and in the way his eyes were always observing, always flicking from here to there as if expecting an attack. He wasn’t very talkative about his experience, giving only short answers when Jester tried to draw him out with questions but they knew he had survived Geonosis.

The new sergeant’s name was Slick and he’d been one of the first troopers on Christophsis. Jester found out that he and his squad had survived Geonosis untouched then Slick had lost his entire squad in single battle protecting the refugee camp. To Gus, Sergeant Slick seemed like a hard, experienced trooper, someone to emulate.

They’d been there a week, the sergeant interviewing them first as a group then individually. He seemed to watch them carefully. Gus knew he wasn’t imagining that curious, calculating gaze when Sketch and Punch saw him in the corridor one day as they made their way to the gym.

“We’ve passed,” chuckled Sketch with a friendly grin to Gus. “Whatever it is.”

Punch nodded. “We went into the barracks, changed to work out fatigues then cleaned and packed up the armor without a glance from the sergeant.”

Gus noticed over the next several days that the sergeant had also stopped staring at Jester and Twenty-three. The few times he did look at them, Gus noticed a look of… disdain or maybe scorn cross the sergeant’s face. But he still watched Gus and he didn’t try to hide that penetrating gaze.  The one time they talked about it in the mess Jester though maybe he was simply trying to discern how best to pair them up for battle. 

Gus had come off night shift and was showering in the small quarters even as he heard the others dress and move out to their duties. Punch and Sketch on BARC patrol, Jester at the refugee camp and Twenty-three to the kitchens. It was odd how often Twenty-three was assigned kitchen duty though Twenty-three never complained.

Gus had come out of the shower humming Vode An and skimming the towel over his scalp. He threw the towel on his bunk and went to his locker to pull out a pair of off-duty fatigues. Absently Gus was aware of the sergeant as he moved in the barracks but his attention was on his plans for the day. Another trooper had invited him to the refugee camp to help with the children. Gus had no idea what he’d be doing, no idea what ‘help with the children’ entailed, but the trooper had been enthusiastic so Gus had agreed.

“Plans, Gus?” Sergeant Slick seemed no more than mildly interested, as any sergeant should be to know the whereabouts of his squad.

“Yes, sir, sergeant. I’ll be doing some volunteer work down at the refugee camp.” He heard the sergeant close behind him, but thought nothing of it as he pushed an arm into the sleeve.

Suddenly, Sergeant Slick grabbed Gus by the inner arms and pushed him against the wall, in the corner of the wall and the locker. It wasn’t a hard push but Gus was surprised as the sergeant’s body captured him in the corner. Gus didn’t move; simply because an order wasn’t voiced, didn’t make it any less of a command. The sergeant obviously wanted him in this position.

“Sir?” He turned his head slightly back in curiosity. There were no words from Slick but Gus felt his hand move behind him. He frowned, trying to figure out what Slick was doing.

Suddenly Slick pressed his erection against Gus, between the muscular cheeks of his backside. “You do a lot of running and jumping, trooper.” Sergeant Slick purred as he cupped one of those muscular globes in his gloved hand, patting Gus after a measuring squeeze. The sergeant shifted back slightly, stroking his penis between those cheeks then brushing the naked back of Gus with his hand. “Good muscular development,” he murmured as his gloved hand moved up Gus’s shoulder then down the bulge of his bicep. "It's important to stay fit."

Gus frowned in confusion. He tried to shift his body, tried to turn so he could face the sergeant. Immediately Slick’s hand twisted the material tighter around his arm and shoved his shoulder toward the wall while Slick’s body held the rest of Gus captive.

“None of that, trooper.” Slick’s reprimanded harshly.

“No sir,” mumbled Gus in confusion.

He felt the sergeant move his arm then his bare hand was stroking Gus’s back even as his glove landed on one of the bunks. “You’ve got sweet, smooth skin, shiny. Not like that k’atini, Twenty-three.”

“Yes sir.” Gus felt a lump gather in his throat. He felt the sergeant nuzzle his neck then, in contrast to the hardness of his penis, Slick pressed a soft kiss against Gus’s neck, sucking lightly on his skin. “And you listen, you do a good job. No questioning orders like Jester. All mouth, no brain.”

But Gus could only feel the hard penis throb and twitch at his buttocks. Slick was leaning against Gus now, kissing his neck and his shoulders, his chest against Gus’s bare back. One hand came around in front of Gus. Gently he stroked Gus into readiness, cupping his testes, sliding a knowing hand over the head of Gus’ now-erect penis. It felt so good and Gus made a soft noise of discovery in his throat as he relaxed against Slick’s body. Slick was moving slightly, rhythmically against Gus and it felt good; relaxing and comfortable like Gus thought two brothers might touch each other.

“You’re ready, aren’t you trooper,” Slick whispered in his ear with a warm breath and tightened his hand around Gus’s penis as Gus testes drew up, as everything inside him began to tightened for what would come next.  "Almost about to come, rookie. Going to come all over my hand like the virgin shiny you are...”

Gus nodded. He’d never experimented with his brothers, had never really had the interest but he would come for Slick. Then he would turn and play with Slick’s hard penis in turn, do whatever Slick asked of him. There was nothing in the rules against this play during the troopers’ off times and Gus felt a tiny frisson of pride to know the sergeant had chosen him.

Though there was something in Slick’s voice that puzzled Gus somewhere in the thinking portion of his brain, he ignored it, moving in tandem with the sergeant’s body, leaning back then pushing his thick, throbbing penis in Slick’s fist, his testes curling up and his mouth opening as his head lolled back in pleasure.

For an instant, Slick wasn’t there but Gus was too far gone, already hit by the beginning spasms of orgasm.

He screamed into Slick’s hand as it came over his mouth in the same moment he felt Slick’s penis shoved into his anus, painfully rough. Slick pushed again and Gus retained sufficient coherency to attempt to relax. His own penis was still pulsing, hot sperm coming against his thighs though he hadn’t realized he’d half-fallen to his knees. Slick had held him up, slowed his downward movement enough that Slick’s hardness was still in him.

Gus shuddered as Slick gathered some of Gus’ semen from still sensitive glans and thigh then moved his hand to his own penis. Roughly he withdrew from Gus – only mostly, the thick head of his penis still pressing against and widening Gus – and slathered Gus’s semen around his penis and Gus’s anus. Without a word, he shoved back into Gus, thrusting hard several times then stopped, his penis still deeply embedded.

“You like this, don’t you shiny?” Sergeant Slick growled deep in his throat. Gus shook his head.

“No sir,” he mumbled into Slick’s gloved hand, still covering his mouth.

“You love this, don’t you, trooper,” Slick insisted as his penis pushed deeply into Gus. Gus shuddered and shook his head again, tears of confusion on his face. “Don’t lie to me, trooper, I know better.” Slick reached down to Gus’s penis, already erect again to Gus confusion. “Don’t ever try to lie to me, Gus.” Slick’s voice went soft, as if in sympathy. “I know better.”

Slick gave a final thrust even as his fist gripped Gus’s penis and pulled it, stripping more semen from it and Gus felt the rolling waves of another orgasm.

But with the waves of orgasm came a whimper and something that felt like his soul splintering.

Though it was well known clone didn’t have souls.

Gus shuddered as he felt himself released from Slick’s hard grip and he fell against the wall, Slick’s penis withdrawing from him. His heart was thudding, his breath coming in sobs, his eyes closed.

“Look at me trooper,” It was an order and Gus raised his eyes to see the sergeant’s erection, thick and hard. “You don’t satisfy me, trooper. I’m not one of you.” Slick’s hand went to his penis and he stroked himself several times. “You can touch me, Gus. When we’re alone, you can stroke my penis to your pleasure. Your pleasure, trooper, not mine.” Slick grinned as his hand ran over the head of his penis. “You can take me into your lips for a favor. Maybe, on a day you do really well, I’ll repeat today’s performance. I’ll fuck you like you want to be fucked, line you up against...”

“I don’t want,” Gus began as he shook his head again but Slick reached down and grabbed Gus by the arm then, once again, shoved him against the wall.

This time there was none of the rhythmic, wave-like movement which Gus had found comforting and had enjoyed so much. The sergeant simply shoved his erection into Gus. Gus gave a cry of shocked surprise and pain but tried to relax, tried to lean against the wall and not let his quivering knees betray him again. It didn’t work as suddenly Slick’s head was at Gus’s shoulder and, instead of a kiss, his teeth bit down hard, drawing blood.

This time though, Gus could feel the sergeant’s orgasm, the hot semen inside him, the uncontrolled twitching of the sergeant’s body as he rode the waves of orgasm.

“I own you, Gus,” he growled as his hips jerked, shoving his penis again into Gus. Slick’s arms moved from imprisoning him against the wall and came around Gus’s waist as the sergeant kissed the bite he’d just made then licked at the wound. This time it was Slick’s knees that were weak and Gus could feel the sergeant take strength simply from leaning against him, breathing hard as his penis finished then lessened and slid from Gus.

“You did good, trooper,” Slick whispered into Gus’s ear as his hand reached down behind Gus and did something. “I think I’ll make you sergeant’s second.” Slick stepped back, closing the fly then gave a neat pat on his groin. “Have that seen to, Gus.” He gestured at the bite on Gus’s shoulder as he left the barracks.

Gus leaned against the coolness of the metal deck, shuddering in great sobs, burying his face on his knees as tears streaked down his face.

Gus had no understanding of why he cried.


	2. Chopper

Normally Slick wouldn’t have been able to get so close to the trooper without his knowledge. Chopper was that good. It was one reason why Slick had started with Chopper first. But now Chopper’s attention was all on something he held in his hand and Slick smiled as he heard the slight noise of a flimsy.  It must be some drawing Sketch had done which held Chopper’s attention so tightly bound.

Chopper breathed heavily then breathed out a cleansing breath in the humidity of the shower room. His empty hand reached between his legs as he sat on the edge of the bench.

Slick smiled and gently, silently, leaned against the door jam, half hid by the bank of lockers. Chopper would easily see him if he glanced around, even if he looked only slightly to one side where the mirrors reflected. Slick was using the mirrors. From behind he saw only Chopper’s back; scars stretching over his shoulders, red roughness of healed burn tissue, the deep edge of a scar wrapping around his ribs. But in the mirror…

Chopper’s face was pleased at whatever drawing Sketch had done. Chopper wasn’t erect, yet and the fingers of one hand were aimlessly touching his cock and balls, stroking his inner thighs lightly. His head moved gently as his eyes looked over whatever Sketch had drawn with a thoughtful expression on his face. Slick saw the hand between his legs gently caress his cock with the back of his thumb as he held his balls, rolling them in his hands.

Chopper nodded, making some decision. His hand moved with purpose now; cupping the head of his cock, to manipulate and twist to his satisfaction. He purred in the back of his throat. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured to the drawing as his hand began the rhythmic sliding along the length of his cock. “I want you; want to please you so much.” There was a pause, as if Chopper was listening. “It’s been such a long time.”

Slick waited until the trooper was panting heavily, growling deep in his throat, inarticulately talking to the drawing, his hand pulling at his cock harder and faster. Slick waited until he heard the slight sound of a flimsi set to one side of the bench so Chopper could masturbate with both hands and still see the drawing.

Chopper was moaning, his breath short and hard in his throat and Slick could see in the mirror’s image Chopper’s actions. He watched as Chopper pressed the palm of one curved hand against the head of his cock, his other hand sliding up, pulling his cock longer. Then he switched hands and Slick could see for just an instant the glistening wetness of pre-cum on Chopper’s hand. He could see the beginning rhythm of Chopper’s body sway even as he sat. He could see Chopper’s balls drawing up tight.

Slick gave his own hardness a pat. It was time.

“Chopper,” Slick’s voice rang out as if pleased to see the trooper and beneath his jovialness echoing slightly in the tiled showers he heard a slight hiss from Chopper, heard the slapping sound of Chopper’s hands on his cock suddenly stop.

To himself, Slick smiled.

Chopper trembled but didn’t otherwise move. He was a stature sitting on the bench near the shower. Slick saw his cock, moments ago hard, erect, reaching upward and weeping pre-cum, begin softening.

 _Even better,_ Slick thought to himself.

“Oh,” Slick spoke almost as though he had actually come upon Chopper accidentally. “I didn’t mean to….” His eyes shifted around, avoiding Chopper’s hands and what Chopper had been so obviously doing, as if seeking some escape. Seemingly by accident, Slick’s eyes lit upon the drawing. He bent and softly picked it up by the edges.

It was Chopper; so many different views of Chopper, in coitus with various women. A lithe Twi’lek dancer had curled herself around Chopper, stretching high on her toes so her face was reaching toward him as her hand fondled his erectness, her lekku curled around his neck in a tight embrace. Chopper twisted around her, his arm pulling her leg to his waist tightly as his head bent down to her small, firm breasts and his cock slid along her leg towards her most private part. Another drawing had a woman, Zeltron if Slick wasn’t mistaken, shoulders flat on some surface while the rest of her body arched upwards in ecstasy, her own hands reaching to pull at her nipples while Chopper knelt between her widely-spread legs, his cock buried deeply into her cunt, the artist’s perspective from behind Chopper’s shoulder, looking down.

Slick swallowed at that one, committing it to his memory changing only the details of the trooper.

Another drawing had a woman kneeling in front of Chopper, his hands spreading her hair like a cape while her lips and tongue tasted him, sliding around his cock.

Slick gave a slight noise in his throat and his own cock twitched at the idea of being so treated.

Another drawing had Chopper leaning against some surface, a pillar or a wall, pushing his cock into a woman also leaning against something behind her, her legs braced against the wall at Chopper’s back, Chopper’s big hands pulling the round cheeks of her ass towards him.

 _A masterpiece_ , Slick could almost see the swaying movement of her body as Chopper drew it towards him, to plunge his hardness into her. Her head was thrown back, her mouth open… Slick’s own cock protested again, pressing against his trousers hard, almost painfully, and Slick sighed, remembering why he was here. It wasn't to see a drawing of beautiful sexy women doing wonderfully sexy fucking...

There were more, more drawings than Slick could individually make out at a single glance, all drawings of Chopper, his scars so evident, fucking and being fucked by so many different females. Twi’lek, Togruta, Zeltros, Wroonian, Human. Each woman giving herself totally to Chopper in double pleasure. Sketch had made each of these women individual. Slick could see that Twi’lek was young and inexperienced, her eyes sparkling. The Zeltros woman was older, more knowledgeable, her hands hard with some sort of physical labor, her body lean with daily tasks and childbirth marks. The Wroonian was rich, plump with flesh soft like velvet, her hair disarranged from the jewels on her head; the cover she had coyly wrapped around herself and Chopper’s shoulders as they sat together, as her hands played with him, was highly decorated.

Slick reached down to his own hardening cock and gave it a rub as he set the drawing back on the bench. His mind found the words which would destroy Chopper’s enjoyment.

“It was kind of Sketch,” Slick said as he leaned over the trooper with one hand on Chopper’s bare shoulder, the other with fingers gesturing to the drawings, brushing against one woman's breast with a tightly budded nipple, “to draw these for you.“

Slick drew back slightly, as if Chopper was contamination itself, as if just remembering his scars. “We all know there’s never going to be a real woman for you. After all, Chopper, women don’t like scars.”

Slick turned on his heel, wondering if he should apologize for interrupting, but decided that would be too much sympathy. Chopper would see through the façade. He moved out the door then paused, waiting.

He smiled as he heard the crinkle of the flimsi as it was crumpled in Chopper’s hands, the angry exertion of Chopper as he tried to throw something so light and delicate across the room, and the small scratch of the flimsi hitting the tiled wall and bouncing to the floor. With a sneer at the sound of Chopper’s harsh breathing, Slick strode down the hallway.

He would come find the drawing later. It had been wonderfully erotic and he would use it for his own pleasure.

___________________________

Chopper sat, naked on the bench. It had been good until Slick had come. Odd, that Slick had seemed almost apologetic for interrupting Chopper and after commenting on the drawing Sketch had given him, had left the showers to give Chopper privacy.

Chopper cupped his genitals in one of his warm hands and gave a gentle squeeze. In the end, it hadn’t mattered. Slick had been right; no woman wanted a man with scars like his; no woman wanted some mentally deficient, half-life trooper.

Chopper sighed as he bent and picked up the balled flimsi. Gently, he pulled out the crumples and tried to flatten it on the bench. There was still a crease over Sa’Tali’s face reaching up to her elegant montrals. Chopper pressed his finger along the crease trying to erase it.

“I’m sorry Sa’tali,” he said softly with a slight smile as his finger traced the curve of her waist; what he was doing, where his hand rested, in the drawing as she rode him. Her legs were on either side of his hips and she was leaning forward, her breasts pressed flat against his chest. Visually, sexually in the drawing, Chopper could see the length of his cock in her only at the tip of its head as she prepared to slide back down again; the drawing catching them as if Sketch was sitting cross-legged at Chopper’s feet. But it was her expression that Chopper tried to see, tried to press the wrinkle from with his fingertip. She was forehead to forehead with him, her eyes bright with love at seeing him again, at joy because he’d been gone too long…

That had been the story Punch had told him of Sa’Tali. Sketch had done the drawings and Punch had told Chopper the stories of every one of those women making love to Chopper. There was Iatuya, plump and rich, who Chopper had rescued from a wild gundark. There was sweet, virgin Lumurya who Chopper had won in a sabacc game and freed, returning her to Ryloth. There was Gella who hadn’t been able to run her ranch without a man’s strength. Good stories from Punch to match Sketch’s drawings of wonderful women for Chopper. It had been a wonderful gift.

Chopper sighed, flattened the flimsi one last time with his hand.

Sketch hadn’t simply drawn Chopper with various women in various sexual positions; Sketch had named them, convinced Punch to tell stories about them, to tell Chopper what they did and, more, how they had met the scarred trooper. How Chopper had come to know them and how they had come to love him and Chopper could see that in their faces. Love and joy and hope and peace; it was all in their faces for Chopper to see. Sketch and Punch had made love stories for him after the night Slick had taken them to the women’s house and one of the women at laugh at Chopper when he tried to kiss her.

“I’m sorry, Chopper,” Slick had said the next morning. “I guess women don’t like scars.”

Of course not, but Chopper had wondered at the triumph Slick couldn’t quite keep out of his voice.

They weren’t real women anymore. Chopper suspected they had become only flat pictures the moment Slick had touched the page. But it had been a fine gift and Chopper wasn’t about to let the gift go unappreciated even if he could no longer enjoy the women.

Chopper folded the flimsi carefully. He’d set it in his armor, on his chest. When he died, Sketch and Punch would see it, would know that he had appreciated the gift. Each day when he armored up, he would see what two brothers had done for him.

No matter that the women were no longer alive; no matter that they were no more than grey lines on the flimsi.

________________________________

When Slick returned to the shower in the late hours of night closer to morning, he couldn’t find the flimsi. He rubbed the back of his head then shrugged. It didn’t matter. He had put another set of scars on Gus that afternoon; he had put an invisible mark on Chopper as well.

It didn’t matter about the flimsi; he’d order Sketch to draw something…

Maruli… his mind whispered.

NOT Maruli, he snarled to himself. Not Maruli!

He was doing all this for Maruli; for Maruli and his squad.  He _had_ to do this for his men.

He turned on his heel angrily moving away from the showers.

He had forbidden Sketch to draw.  How dare he draw something as implausible as Chopper with women?

Slick suddenly stopped and smiled as he began rubbing his throbbing hardness beneath his garrison greys. Gus was never quite satisfactory; Slick would have to visit the women again. Soon. They were beautiful and wonderfully knowledgeable in pleasing him, far more so than Gus though Gus tried harder.

He wondered what he could take to pay them; he was running out of coins. Although the price he paid for the woman to play with Chopper then laugh at his lust... that had been well worth it.

Chopper had broken that night. Slick knew it.  He had also cracked the brother pair, knew that he had irreparably damaged Jester. Gus was broken as well; so proud to be sergeant’s second, yet not understanding why he was shamed by the sex, by being owned and marked by Slick.  Gus would be the first.

Slick laughed softly in the back of his throat. He’d set the favors of Gus in his next game of sabacc; it might be interesting to watch Gus try to please someone else, some highly experienced Christophsan. He grinned, perhaps he’d set up Jester as his game stake. The Christophsans he played sabacc with would be willing to gamble high for Jester. Slick nodded to himself; that would take some doing – Jester wasn’t quite broken to Slick’s will yet. Neither were the pair of brothers Sketch and Punch, but Slick knew their weaknesses.

He’d have Sketch draw Punch, writhing in ecstasy, his hands circling around his own cock, his mouth screaming wide in pleasure as Slick, riding him, plunged his hard cock into Punch…

And he make Sketch draw a bite-mark of ownership on Punch’s shoulder.


	3. Sketch

“Sketch, I’d like to see you in my office later.  Perhaps after duty?”  Sergeant Slick asked almost hesitantly, almost as if he was making a request.

It even sounded like a question, but Sketch knew the only question was whether before or after duty.  “Of course, sergeant.  After duty.”

“It’s about drawing, Sketch,” Slick smiled.  “And I know how much you enjoy drawing.”

Sketch nodded, feeling dry and desolate on the inside.  The sergeant only let him draw what the sergeant wanted.  

Slick had given him colors for the pretty Twi’lek adorning their barracks.  He had volunteered Sketch’s talent for two descriptions of suspected Separatist sympathizers.  And, every so often, Slick would simply hand him the art stylus and the flimsi - sometimes even the colors - and let him draw.  Sketch had  usually no idea where those drawings ended up.

Duty was both abysmally slow and over before Sketch wanted it done.  After duty report to the deck officer, Sketch was back in the barracks quickly.  His fingers itched to draw something, something from his mind.  Sketch wanted get this done and over.  He tried to tell his fingers to stop, that the pleasure would not be his.

Only Gus was in the barracks alone, his fingers absently rubbing his shoulder then dropping to his lap as he realized where he'd been scratching.  They all knew about the healing bite mark, but pretended not to notice.

“Sergeant said he wanted to talk with you.”  Gus seemed to stare down his nose in disapproval, as if Slick had implied it was punishment.

“Maybe a drawing, Gus,” replied Sketch with a half-smile.

For a moment, Gus’s eyes lit up then he carefully tapped down the anticipation. and gestured to the drawing of the Twi’lek above the doorway.  “Sergeant doesn’t really approve of her,” Gus stared quizically at the drawing for a moment, “but says that it’s good for morale.”

Sketch wondered about that and was about to say so to Gus but Sergeant Slick came into the barracks.  A quick nod sent the second out the door as Slick, followed by Sketch, strode to the portion of the barracks used as the sergant's office

“I want a picture, Sketch.”  Slick’s fingers rested on the small case only slightly larger than a personal medical pack.

“Of course, sir.”  Sketch saw Slick release the latch and a score of pencils dropped from the case onto the fine art-textured flimsis.  Colors rolled onto the desk; beautiful colors – copper, shades of brown and oche, blacks and greys.  There were yellows and blues and oranges and greens.  Just sitting there, eying those colors gave Sketch ideas.  He’d seen a graceful woman in a scarf just that shade of orange among the refugees.  The camp at sunset would require those greens, blues and ivory.  

Sketch bit back a smile, thus wasn’t for him.  “What will I draw, Sergeant?  What do you want?  Is there a description for me to follow?”

Slick shift back in the chair, his eyes gleaming.  “I want a picture of Punch.”

Sketch didn’t move, feeling that if he did, something terrible would happen.  “Sir?”

Slick’s smile widened but his eyes remained hard and untouched by warmth.  “A picture of Punch – as you’d like to see him.”

“No.”  It was a hard denial and Sketch wondered what his punishment would be.

Slick stared at him for a moment, then casually began collecting the colors in one hand, the other stroking the edge of the case with a fingertip.  “Very well, Sketch.  Dismissed.”

Sketch couldn’t believe it.  No punishment?  He stood, his helmet in his hand, then came to attention as Slick slipped the pencils back into their case.  Slick rolled the flimsi stock.  It made a pleasant sound as it rubbed together.  Slick glanced up at him again.  “Still here, trooper?  I said ‘dismissed’.”

Sketch turned toward the door; he had arranged to meet Punch in the mess before he went on shift.

“I will see him, though.  Through your hands or my own eyes.”  Slick’s words were soft, barely reaching Sketch as he strode from the door.


	4. A Chill along the Spine

“Sketch,” Punch laughingly pushed against Sketch’s arm.  “Are you awake, vod?”

“Yes,” blinked Sketch, his long fingers reaching around the empty mug.  “Just something the sergeant spoke to me about.

Punch’s lips thinned and he leaned forward conspiratorially.  “A drawing?”

Sketch felt a lump in his throat and couldn’t speak so he only nodded, staring down into the empty mug.

“For sabaac, I bet.”  Punch’s voice was an intense whisper.  “That must be what he uses for stakes with the civilians.  It’s the only way he could gain money for the bar – gambling  –  and what else could he use for betting stakes?”

Sketch nodded absently and saw Punch’s lips tighten as he realized Sketch was simply humoring him.  Punch’s disappointment showed in his eyes before he glanced away and Sketch flinched.  They were closer than mere brothers, closer than _vode_.

They had been anyway.  Once, but it didn't seem so any longer.

“I’m just tired,” Sketch gave as a sort of apology and regretted it as Punch tilted his face towards his own helmet; polished and ready for duty.

“I know and It’s ok, Sketch.  I just thought that if Slick knew we realized he used the drawings for gambling then maybe we could get back on the same shift somehow.  Both Jester and Chopper have offered but Slick won’t allow any shift trades.”  He shrugged.  "I thought perhaps we could threaten to report it unless he gave us the same shift."  Punch paused and when he spoke again, his voice softened.  "You do fantastic drawings and I haven't seen one in a while." 

Though Punch had only asked him once, Sketch hadn’t told him what had happened to the other drawings; how Slick had reached down, picked one at random and torn it in half, then putting the two pieces together and tearing them again.  No words, no explanation.  He had confiscated the remainder of the drawings along with the art-stylus stub.

Sketch shrugged, staring down into the empty mug then glanced into Punch’s face wondering if he could tell him what Slick had told him to draw.

“He had a preference this time.”

Punch snorted and turned his head towards the entry where Gus was looking over the mess.  “Probably him and Gus like you did those drawings for Chopper.”

“Not quite,” said Sketch, but before he could continue, Punch’s chron let them both know he had duty.  Both troopers stood and there was no time to explain any more.  Punch moved out in that long-legged walk that got a clone somewhere fast.

Sketch sighed and moved towards the barracks.  He was exhausted and hoped to talk with Punch when he came off-duty.

\------------------------------

Sketch jerked awake as Gus tapped him on the leg walking towards the doorway.  “Gym and sparring, trooper.  Sergeant says we’ve been slacking on the PT.  Move it.”

It was in sparring that Sketch started to realize exactly what Slick had meant by his words.

It was towards the end of sparring and all the men but Chopper had removed their shirts.  On Kamino in training as Twenty-three, he hadn’t cared who saw the scars but he hadn’t removed his shirt since Sergeant Slick had made the comment about scarred troopers the first day.

Punch and Gus were on the mat while the other two were running laps around the gym.  Slick sat down next to Sketch.

“You know that I’ve marked Gus,” Slick commented and Sketch gave a tiny nod.  The healing half-circle on Gus’ shoulder was still a discolored purple fading into his skin tones as he wrestled on the mat.   It was funny, Sketch thought, that Chopper would be ashamed of battle scars while Gus would flaunt that mark of ownership from Slick.

“Right in the graceful curve of his shoulder; where my lips could touch him.  I could feel the blood throbbing through his neck vein and his skin seemed to burn me.”  Slick’s eyes half-closed though Sketch wasn’t sure if it was desire or disgust that showed in his expression.

Sketch couldn’t help but imagine himself holding Punch like that; dipping his face into the strong curve of Punch’s neck, surrounding himself with the unique scent of Punch and holding his brother warm and protected against the outside like when they’d been young.

“It’s good, Sketch.”  continued Slick, glancing at him, “as I’m sure you know.”

Sketch shook his head.  “I’ve never…”

“Never?  Not even with the delectable Punch?”  Slick moved his eyes over to the object of their discussion.  “Perhaps,” Slick turned back to Sketch with a possessive grin, his tongue touching his upper lip delicately.  “I’ll be his first.”

Sketch shook his head.  “Punch doesn’t want a lover.”

Slick gave a grunt deep in his throat and a small grin.  “Don’t think that will stop me, Sketch.  I’ll see him on his knees and coming either with my eyes or by your hand.”  He glanced at Gus, a sneer on his lips.  “I like it when they fight.”

In spite of the heat of the gym and the exercise, Sketch was suddenly chilled. **  
**


	5. Jester's Silence

Jester observed with increasing anxiety how Sergeant Slick was treating the squad.

Jester had been with most of the squad since they’d been assigned into squad units several years back.  He’d been excited to go into a specialty squad of technicians rather than an infantry line squad.

For the most part, Punch led them and Sketch made sure no one missed anything; those two were brothers in all but the bunk.  They were the two best troopers in the squad and highly competitive with each other.  First Sketch, then Punch taking top scores; but always laughing, the competition between them no more serious than what they ate in the mess on any given day. 

The squad had been incomplete since the training accident had taken 1441 from them.  Zev had been bereft and Jester moved into 1441’s bunk next to Zev.  “I know I’m not Fourone,” he told Zev, “but I’m here for when you need someone.”

“I need my brother,” was the harsh snarl from Zev.  But, two nights later, he slipped into Jester’s bunk to be held while he cried and whispered of his temptation to join his missing brother.  Over the two years since 1441’s death, Jester had become Zev’s occasional lover.  It didn’t really hurt Jester’s feeling when Zev cried out ‘Four’on’ in lust.  It was worth it to keep Zev alive  Yet, he had died even before landing on Christophsis and, even though Jester thought it had been worth it, he sometimes wondered if Sergeant Slick was right about the incompetent ones.

They got Twenty-three a week before assignments were paneled and two weeks before they were due to leave Kamino for their new companies.  There was a little excitement in the squad to get a new guy, wondering where his test scores would put him, until he tossed his duffel and bucket on the bunk.  He turned to face them almost belligerently with red scars over his face and an angry tilt to his head as if daring them to comment on his face.

Jester, of course, did.  “Wow!  Did your training sergeant point you in the wrong direction?”  

There was a pause in the room as the scarred trooper glared at Jester then ran a fingertip over his gnarled cheek.  “Geonosis,” he muttered quietly as he turned his back and began unpacking his gear.

“Real battle?  You’ve seen real battle?” asked Punch as the troopers looked among themselves.  They’d heard of Geonosis; everyone had.  Geonosis, the first battle.  Geonosis, the line in the sand where the Republic said; ‘No more.  This is enough’.  

Then, when the other trooper gave a curt nod, Sketch asked quietly, “Can you give us a briefing on it?”

The trooper shrugged, pulling gear and stowing it into his locker.  “Don’t get blown up.”

Eventually Twenty-three unbent sufficiently to give them a short briefing the second week.  It was the night before they left for their new company and Twenty-three told them everything about Geonosis, about fighting, and about mistakes.  He told them everything he could remember and Jester knew it was so they wouldn’t end up like his first squad.

Their new company was the 212th on Christophsis under temporary command of some senator pending the arrival of a new Jedi general and his clone commander.

The first day, the first hour they arrived, their new sergeant looked them over with a sneer and a grim prognosis.  He informed Twenty-three that scars meant a bad trooper, someone too slow to get out of the way.  He had seen the small matching drawings on the inside of Sketch’s and Punch’s gauntlets and told them there were shinies and not to mark their armor - inside or out - until he permitted.  On Zev’s death, snipered from the LAAT, he had only remarked that it was good to get the incompetent ones out of the way quickly.

And, it seemed that every time Jester had something to say, it was an interruption to Slick.

“Jester, we don’t have time for a long-winded explanation.”

“I’m in a hurry, Jester, would you just speak your mind.”

“Get it out, trooper.  I don’t have time to listen to your babble.”

“Succinct, trooper.  Not like some civilian.”

“If it isn’t vital, then don’t talk.”

“Shut your shebs.”

Jester tried to follow the sergeant’s orders and keep his communications short but the sergeant would ask for an explanation or draw Jester into conversation.  As Jester explained, Sergeant Slick’s eyes would glaze over and he’d look over Jester’s shoulder or at his chron, muttering he hadn’t realized Jester would want to explain _everything_ …

Just recently, Jester had stopped talking as soon as he saw Slick’s expression become uninterested.  Often in mid-word.  Slick would nod, then continue on with whatever he’d been doing almost as if Jester didn't exist; almost as if Jester's words meant nothing.

It seemed as though for everything Jester couldn’t say, everything he saw confused him more and more.  


	6. Just a Small Drawing

Sketch stood at the door to the barracks as he made a mental check of where everyone should be.  Sergeant Slick here with administrative flimsi-work.  Punch was at duty, Gus and Jester doing some volunteer work at the refugee center while Chopper was on trash duty for... something so minescule Sketch couldn’t even remember the regulation.

Slick smiled and set the administrative word aside as Sketch strode to the sergeant’s desk.

“I need the art pencils, sir.”  Sketch said.  “Color, if that’s your preference.  But I want our shifts changed so we can spend time together.”  

Slick leaned back, tilting his head for a moment.  “I’m almost tempted to say no, Sketch.  He’s a beautiful man.”

For a moment Sketch forgot to breath.  That would break Punch and Sketch had to protect his brother.  They’d done that ever since either of them could lift a deece.  They had protected each other from hurts and pains both real and imagined; and if Punch didn’t want a lover, Sketch simply put his desires aside because being Punch’s brother was better than anything else he could imagine.  

Having learned the neither reason nor requests worked with Sergeant Slick, Sketch lifted his chin in defiance.  “It’s been so long, I’m not sure I remember what he looks like.”

Slick looked momentarily delighted at the defiance then he nodded with a small smile.  Slowly, Slick reached into one of the desk compartments and brought out the familiar case.  His fingertips caressed the edge of it.

“Still, I do have Gus.”  

This time there was no mistaking the disgust in his expression.  

Sketch wondered at that as he reached for the art supplies.   

The squad was somewhat divided on whether or not Gus really wanted Sergeant Slick or if it was simply the proximity to command.  Gus had never given any indication of being a brother-lover but he had often talked about becoming a sergeant.  If the sergeant didn’t want Gus  then he should simply break if off.  The squad would be better then.  

Sketch didn’t think Gus would be heartbroken.  His temper had been unstable since that bite mark had been applied to his shoulder.  He’d taken a swing at Jester in the showers as the squad was toweling off after training when Jester remarked on the black bruise weeping blood.  “I thought you weren’t interested in a lover, Gus.  But if you’re ever inclined, I’ll be happy to give your deece a polishing.  And, I won’t break skin.”

Punch had grabbed Gus before he could land more than a punch to Jester’s ribs.

“All you had to say was ‘no’,”  Jester took a step back, raising one hand in defensive peaceful, his expression confused as he rubbed his side.  “It just didn’t seem like you and Slick were exclusive.”

Of course, Jester had never been subtle but Sketch had wondered at the shininess of Gus’ eyes as he had jerked away from Punch and headed back into the showers.

**\-----------------------------  
**

Slick shook his head.  “It’s good, Sketch.  I can’t deny that but somehow it just doesn’t…”  He gave a slight lifting of one shoulder in a shrug.  “It doesn’t make me hard.”  He set the drawing of Punch aside, on the small stack of administrative flimsis and leaned back in the chair with a thoughtful frown.

“Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear enough,” his lips tightened.  “I want to see him as you want to see him.  This is  good.”  Sergeant Slick tapped the picture - a study of nude Punch in various poses.  In the center was a drawing of Punch in the early morning, stretching languidly, his hair tousled, which was surround by other drawings.  “I’m never met a more artistically-talented clone, but this isn’t how you wish to see him.”

Slick gazed up into Sketch’s eyes and was silent for a long while before he pursed his lips together slightly.  “Do I have to specify how I want to see him?”

“No, sir.”  Sketch’s voice was quiet and he swallowed hard.

“Did I give you the same shift as you asked?”

Sketch nodded and stared at the floor like a shamed cadet.  “Yes, sir.”   

Punch had laughed to find they were on the same shift for a day.  “He must have made a mistake, Sketch,” he had crowed in jubilation.  It had been a good day but not the best because Sketch kept remembering what he had promised for it and Punch noticed he was distracted.

Slick's voice cut into his reverie.  “Then give me what you promised, Sketch, a drawing of Punch as you wish to see him.”

Sketch couldn’t say a word so merely nodded.

This time Sergeant Slick handed over the the colors as well.

 


	7. Upon Seeing a Drawing

Punch was livid and Sketch knew it.

“Punch?”  Sketch spoke quietly through the helmet, “Can we go someplace more private than the mess?”

Punch slammed his tray on the table.  “I’m just off-duty and hungry.  You can go back to the barracks.  Maybe Slick will be wanting another drawing.”

Sketch sat at the table, a worried expression on his face as he glanced around at the other troopers in the mess.  “Punch, it’s not…”

“Why did you draw that… that… travesty?”  Punch realized he was yelling and glanced around the mess, then spoke more quietly.  “Slick was in the shower after I came off duty.  He was fondling himself as he held a drawing and I saw it.  I made him show me and he did.  “I wonder if Sketch drew you from memory, Punch.’  That’s what he said.”  Punch leaned forward.  “He said he was torn between wanting me and that drawing.  ‘It’s so lifelike, Punch.  I can almost feel your skin against my belly.  I can feel my balls slapping against your inner thighs.  It must be real good between the two of you.’  All the time, he’s breathing hard, pulling at his cock, reaching down to tug at his balls, just getting ready to come as the water sliding all over him.  Osik, Sketch, he almost asked me to take his cock into my mouth when he did cum!  Staring at that picture then staring at my lips with that smile.”

Punch slammed the table with his fist, causing Sketch to jump and several brothers at a nearby table to look in their direction.  Punch glared angrily at them until they casually moved to another table.

Punch turned his face back to Sketch.  “And you dared to put a bite-mark on my shoulder.”  He had lowered his voice so no one else could possibly hear but his fist was clenched so tightly, his knuckles were white.

Sketch frowned, his chin quivering slightly.  Sergeant Slick had said he’d keep it private; perhaps he hadn’t meant to let Punch see it.  But he had.

Sketch looked down at the table reaching to touch Punch’s fist.  Punch jerked it back out of Sketch’s easy reach and sat tensely straight.

“Is that how you want me, Sketch?   On my hands and knees with your ownership on my skin?  Are you in this with Slick?  Are you credit-rich from your art and his gambling?”  Punch’s voice was growing louder and, once again, he realized how loud he was getting and lowered his voice again.  “I’ve told you I don’t want a brother-lover, Sketch.  I thought we had come to an agreement, I thought…”

“He ordered me to draw it, Punch.”  Sketch’s voice was soft in defending himself from Punch’s accusations.  Sketch’s eyes jerked up to stare angrily at Punch.  “He ordered that mark on the shoulder.  He said if I didn’t, he’d mark you in life.  He said he’d do to you what he did to Gus but he’d enjoy it a lot more and you’d enjoy it a lot less than Gus ever had”

The anger drained from Punch.  “Aw, kriff, Sketch.”  He looked away from Sketch’s face, taking in Chopper’s quick glance at one of the squads behind them laughing.  Chopper paused, a quick look at him and Sketch, then ducking his head and moving onwards, giving them the privacy they so often craved.  

Punch wondered if he should call him over, maybe talk about the squad.  Chopper had been in a squad before; he’d be able to say whether or not this was normal.  Certainly, it couldn’t be right.  He turned back to Sketch wishing he could erase the anxiety and tension from his face.  Wishing he could erase his angry words.  Just because he didn’t want Sketch sexually, didn’t mean he didn’t love him.  In fact, both me knew that if Sketch really asked, Punch would crawl in bed with him.  Both men knew that Sketch would never ask because it wasn’t what Punch wanted.  

Before Christophsis, this would have been the moment he’d make some joke and laugh, enticing a smile from his brother, and earning again his name of Punchline.  He drew his eyes back to Sketch’s face, staring at the table surface, tears in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Punch.”

Punch didn’t feel like laughing.  He hadn’t felt like laughing since Gus had become sergeant’s second.  Nor did he notice his own tears. **  
**


	8. Confusion - The End

GUS

Gus paced the area, keeping in the quiet shadows.

"Gus."

It was the sergeant's voice and Gus flicked the helmet into thermal mode per regulation to confirm humanity.  

Slick was lit up, not wearing his armor at all.  He was humanly warm; mostly yellow though a touch of green and blue at his extremities, all orange in his face and throat.  His groin was an incandescent red.  Gus' eyes followed the bobbing redness of his erection as Slick came nearer.

"I'm just checking on you, Gus.  A good sergeant checks on his men.  You're ok?"

Gus nodded; his eyes on Slick's erection through the thermal view.  He could see the blood throbbing through Slick in waves of deep to deeper red.  His throat went dry and he worked his mouth to answer the sergeant's question.

"FIne, sir."  Gus couldn't raise his eyes above Slick's cock.

He hadn't enjoyed it!  No matter that the sergeant thought he had, no matter that he'd ejaculated not once, but twice.  There had to be a reason because he hadn’t enjoyed it!

Slick leaned against the AT-AT, brightness against shadow in thermal scan except for the engines cooling from orange to yellow.  A fringe of blue-green fingers moved to the pulsing red of Slick's cock, making it shade even darker red and glow brighter hued in Gus' view.

"Anything I can get you, second?"  Slick's voice was friendly.  "Anything you need?"

"No, sir.  I'm fine."

"Sit with me for a while, trooper.  Relax.  It's nice weather; take off your helmet and feel the breeze."

Anything.  Gus would do anything to not see that red, pulsing cock glowing in the darkness.  He removed his helmet after calling in the deck officer for a short break and rejoiced in the dim light of night where Slick was no more visible than the AT-AT.

"They don't have constellations like this on Kamino..." Slick moved an arm and pointed toward the sky even as his other arm moved slowly, rhythmically at his groin.  "Look at that meteor shower."

That was ok.  As long as Gus couldn't see the sergeant's cock, it was ok.  Besides, he was in armor and the sergeant couldn't take him in armor.  He moved closer to the AT-AT, leaning against it as he looked up.  Slick was right; it was beautiful; crystal bright against the velvet darkness.

Slick stepped on the toe flap of the AT-AT and gracefully pushed himself up with his arms, twisting to sit on the footpad.

For a while both men were quiet, watching the stars then Sergeant Slick reached his hand to Gus’ shoulder bell and gave the slightest pull.

"Just here in front of me."

There was a small sound from Gus which both men ignored even as Gus slowly moved to the front of Slick, between his spread knees.  He could hear the movement of Slick's hand on himself and it was almost as loud as his heart.

"I think you know what you want, Gus,” purred Slick’s voice.  “Most sergeants wouldn't trust a virgin mouth without some instruction, but I know you'll be good at this."

"I don't want..." began Gus.

"I know you do, Gus," corrected Slick gently.  "You came when I took you the first time, you came hard.  You loved it.  I'm sorry for the pain, but you were so enticing, letting me know how much you wanted it, leaning against me.  I thought you had prepared yourself better."

There was the slightest note of censure in Slick's voice.  Even as his spoke, Slick's fingers caressed Gus' face, finding his lips and guiding his cock to place the tip of it against Gus' lower lip.

"You need to take care of yourself, Gus, even as brothers take care of brothers; even as a sergeant takes care of his troopers and his troopers watch out for the sergeant."  Slick pressed his cock gently through Gus' unresisting lips.  "Mutual, Gus.  Taking care of each other."

There was the taste of human heat, the salty drops of pre-cum sliding over Gus' tongue as the sergeant pressed a little more insistently.  Gus suddenly knew he could do this.  He could get this over relatively quickly and go back to night watch.  His tongue flattened around the head of the sergeant's erection and he began sucking.

**\------------------------------  
**

Slick closed his eyes.

It felt good, almost as good as the first time.  Almost as good as with Maruli.

She'd been wonderful.  She'd lain down, opening her legs wide to let him see her totally, to inspect her with no embarrassment.  Slick had paid her pink cunt close attention, following her instructions to be gentle.  It was, after all, his first experience with a female and he was known for his thoroughness.  

After a while of stroking her, he had seen droplets of moisture collect and had hesitantly licked them from his fingers.  They tasted of her, far more intensely her than her kisses.  Under her directions, he had pleased her the very first time, making her come with his fingers thrusting into her and his tongue lapping at the nub of flesh.  Even as she was writhing, crying out for more, he had moved and thrust his cock into her cunt.  Nothing in his short life had ever matched that feeling.

Slick snorted, both at how fast he'd come then and how close he was now just thinking about the past.

He had come hard into Maruli and nearly passed out at the feelings and textures she'd drawn from him.  After his own throbbing had ceased, he had slowly rolled onto his back, his mouth open, breathing hard in amazement.  Maruli had softly laughed, kissed him on the lips then began cleaning him - cleaning his spent cock, wet with sex, with her tongue.  

He'd gotten hard again.  Fast.  Her tongue danced around the head of his engorged cock, flicking the slit of his ruddy flesh, sliding down to suck on his balls.  He came again, shouting out his triumph.

Not at all like Gus and his prosaic sucking, but it still felt good.  Slick grinned, his eyes half-closed as he passively fucked Gus' mouth.  “Soon, Gus,” he murmured a promise.

Slick's mind moved back to Maruli; her red lips and her little wet tongue that loved to play with his tongue or with his cock, bringing it into hardness.  He had loved her gentle hands and her quick mind but he adored what her tongue could do on his body.

Never mind that Gus hadn’t varied his rhythm or added any movement of his tongue.  Never mind that Gus was nothing like Maruli, Slick was ready and leaned his head back, reaching under Gus to fondle his tightening balls, wishing he could curl his fingers into Maruli’s thick, dark hair instead of skimming lightly over Gus’ shaven scalp.  

A wave of affection for his second ran through him and he wished he could tell Gus that there was a purpose, grand and glorious, to all of this… pain.  But, he’d learn.

Slick came in a thrusting roar, his semen filling Gus' mouth enough that Gus swallowed reflexively and there was more semen that Gus spat out, coughing.  He felt Slick tremble, a momentary weakness, then Slick caught his breath.

"You'll take good care of the men, sergeant's second."  Slick's fingers wiped against Gus' face, taking saliva and come with it.

Gus slid on his helmet as Slick pushed himself off the footpad of the AT-AT, the thermals no longer showing the angry red of hot blood flowing to his groin.

Slick nodded to himself.  Gus was broken, thoroughly broken, and it was time to build him into a free-thinking man; not just a clone.  He started to turn, a genuine question on his lips about how Gus felt about being so used; a question that would cause Gus to think and break from his training, as Slick had broken; to move from a programmed clone, a flesh-droid, into a free-thinking man.  

Slick loved his brothers but had to break the trooper to build a man.  He wished he knew another way besides cruelty

Gus spoke first and his words shook Slick’s existence.

"Sergeant Slick," Gus asked slowly as Slick started turning in the path to the barracks.  "Who is Maruli?"

Slick froze then turned back to Gus, his face like stone.

"You will never set your mouth around her name again, Gus."

Then he turned back toward the barracks, his shoulders stiff with anger, and Gus let the deck officer know he was done with break.

He had heard what Slick hadn't said aloud.

_Or I'll kill you._

Odd, but for briefest moment the sergeant had a look of uncommon kindness and seemed about to say something.

Perhaps ‘I love you’?  

Gus tried snorting back his tears but failed. **  
**


End file.
